


A Long-Expected Orgy

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Humor, Kinky/Squicky Pairings, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UnbegrenztIt's a prologue! It's almost a summary in and of itself!
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Denethor II, Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Frodo Baggins, Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Théoden Ednew, Aragorn | Estel/Éomer Éadig, Arwen Undómiel/Éowyn, Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Legolas Greenleaf, Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took, Celeborn/Legolas Greenleaf, Déagol/Gollum | Sméagol, Elladan/Elrohir (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel/Legolas Greenleaf, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Gandalf | Mithrandir/Saruman | Curunír, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Haldir of Lothlórien/Legolas Greenleaf, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	1. Prologue: Concerning Slash

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own a hobbit, not even one elf-  
> And all of the dwarves  
> Belong to Tolkien himself.  
> Please do not sue! Please have some class!  
> And if you don't like my disclaimer,  
> You can kiss my furry, hobbit-loving bum!
> 
> Story Notes: Read on, if you dare.

This story is largely concerned with hot, steamy, slashy sex, and from its pages a reader may discover much that they did not know, nor ever wanted to know, about this touchy subject. Further _information_ will also be found in the selection from various LOTR-slash-devoted sites and maillists on the web which have already dealt quite a few ways with the suggestive matter in Prof. T's lovely books.

Many, however, may wish to know more about this remarkable twisting of seemingly innocent feelings and words, while some may not rightly know what slash is, or from whence it came. For such readers, a few notes on the more important points are here collected from Slash-lore, which dealt mainly with a beloved and crazily raunchy half-grown people known to most of us here in the Tolkien Universe as Hobbits.

Hobbits have always seemed like a rather boring folk, more numerous formerly than they are today. This requires some explaining. A large number of hobbits (a continually growing number of them, I must say) have come to realize that their preference lies with Hobbits of the same gender. That is to say, more than 50% of the hobbit population is indeed made up of homosexuals, and thus, the number of wee babes born annually is decreasing steadily with each passing year. There is, of course, the option of artificial insemination for the female couples if they want it, but hobbits have never really been into anything as unusual as that, and the hobbit lads are rather shy about donating to Ye Old Spermbank, as it were.

Despite the fact that more than half of the hobbits who currently, or have ever existed, are indeed homosexual in orientation, that very thing was still rather frowned upon by the remaining 'Normies' (as they were called) until the events which will undoubtedly take place in the tale that you are about to (hopefully) read. The hobbit culture was indeed quite backward, to the point where even lesbian couples raising children would encourage their young ones to be, or at least seem to be, hetero at all costs. Those Normies of the East Farthing were brutes, and in spite of their dwindling numbers, they still seemed to be set on keeping openly homosexual behaviour to minimum, right into the Third Age. Thus, the more numerous homosexual hobbits were and had always been raised in fear, and kept themselves locked quite tightly in their little figurative closets.

This really was of no concern to the rest of the inhabitants of Middle Earth, who were at that time concerned rather with global warming, and the increasingly thick blanket of smog which was settling over Greenwood (This particular forest was, at the time, nicknamed 'Mirkwood').

But, I am getting ahead of myself. The story recounted here is a deviously slashy rendering of the late Prof. J.R.R. Tolkien's remarkable tale; giving you, the reader, a glimpse of how it might have been told had Tolkien been a slash-favouring writer.

The following tale, however, in all of its slashy and magnificent glory, has little to do with J.R.R.'s original tale, save that the hobbits meet the same people and go to many of the same places. I own none of these charming characters, nor any of the places, as stated in the disclaimer. I merely wish to entertain my corrupt fantasies of 'passionate hobbit love'* and naughty 'Nazgul nine-ways'*. The story goes ever on and on. It's your choice whether you want to read it or no.

* * *

*-These sayings are not original to me... I'm not THAT witty!

COMING SOON (if I get enough feedback): Chapter One: The Long-Expected Orgy


	2. Chapter I: A Long-Expected Orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's party is being planned, and just GUESS what's in store for the strapping young lads of the Shire!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Notes: Beta'd by Trianne!

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventyfirst birthday with an all-male 'party' of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement (among the lads) and much grumbling and poo-pooing (among the lasses).

Everyone in the Westfarthing knew Bilbo as the peculiar Sugar-Daddy of all the coming-of-age lads in the Shire. He was rich, and his younger 'contacts' were probably drawn to this more than any other aspect of the Old Hobbit, despite the fact that he looked not a day older than fifty (And that was saying something for a guy his age!).

Whenever a swaggering Thirty-something-year-old entered The Green Dragon (the only _open_ openly gay bar in Hobbiton) and bought 'a round for the boys' with his newly acquired 'spending money', word would spread. He would soon become known as Raunchy Ol' Bilbo's Newest Victim. The accusations were almost never false, and these chosen lads guarded their place in Mr. Baggins' heart (and his pants) with a quiet sort of pride.

The eldest of these, and Bilbo's favorite, was young Frodo Baggins. Talk was still going around the Shire (particularly in the Eastfarthing, home of the Normies) that the scandalous adoption of Mr. Frodo was more than just a move made by an aging Aristocrat to secure his fortune from prying and plotting relatives. Frodo was an unabashed and regular customer at The Green Dragon, and more often than not he was the one buying 'a round for the boys'.

The 'party' was set for September 22, and promised all of the fun and entertainment that could possibly be wished for by the lads of the Westfarthing.

That very month was as fine as you could ask. During the second week of it a rumor (probably started by the knowledgeable Sam- the gardener at Bag End) was spread around that there were going to be _Strippers_ \-- Outlandish dwarves- Bilbo's close friends, who had been practicing for well nigh on six months.

The Day (or, rather, the Night) drew nearer and nearer. An odd-looking wagon laden with _very_ odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbiton one evening and toiled up the Hill to Bag End. The startled and curious hobbits peered out of lamplit doors to gape at it. Sam had been right! The wagon was driven by dwarves singing lewd but rather amusing little ditties. They were clad in long cloaks with deep hoods; the hobbits couldn't wait to find out what (if anything) they had on underneath. The whole gangly bunch of them remained at Bag End, which brought forth jealous and vicious gossip. Bilbo had those luscious dwarves all to himself, and the party was still weeks away! Everyone (lads and lasses) envied the Sour Old Hobbit the private entertainment that he must have been enjoying-- but the dwarves were HIS acquaintances, after all.

By the time the heavy-laden wagon had made its way to the doorstep of Bag End, there was already a small crowd of strapping young hobbit lads waiting to help unload (and catch a glimpse- maybe MORE than a glimpse- of the dwarves). All of the carefully wrapped gadgets and toys were marked with a great 'G' and a strange Elf Rune that looked rather like a finger stuck up a great nose (or so the innocent lads thought).

"G for Grand!" the all cried, and an emaciated-looking old man in gray instantly materialized before them and smiled. His name was Gandalf, and he was indeed grand at many things.

When the lads had finished unloading, Bilbo gave a few pennies (as well as some 'companionable' squeezes) away; but not a jiggle or a wiggle was forthcoming from the Dwarves, much to the disappointment of the onlookers.

"Run away now!" said Gandalf. "You will get plenty when the time comes."

The next day, the invitations went out to all the able and available lads in the Westfarthing, including a chosen few from the Eastfarthing who were known NOT to be Normies (such as Meriadoc 'Merry' Brandybuck and Peregrin 'Pippin' Took- Eastfarthingers had a habit of picking names for their offspring which would never actually be USED). The post office in Hobbiton, and the one in Bywater were quite snowed under. Every hour of every day, carts went to and fro between the post offices and Bag End, carrying hundreds of thrilling variations of: 'Oh, Bilbo, darling. I can't _wait_ to... _come_!'

A notice appeared on the gate at Bag End: 'No admittance except on Party Business, or if your name happens to be Sancho Proudfoot, Mosco Burrows, Griffo Boffin, Fredegar Bolger, Ferdibrand Took, Doderic Brandybuck...' The list went on and on, and, needless to say, the sign was very large. This was despite the fact that the names of all the favorite young contacts of Mr. Bilbo Baggins were printed rather finely.

Bilbo was busy, but not too busy for the fondling of his most prized hobbit lads. He WAS a SugarDaddy, after all. He needed to fondle and be fondled from time to time. It was just his way.

One morning, the hobbits woke to find that the large field, south of Bilbo's front door, had been transformed seemingly over-night into a great outdoor pub. At the very centre, there was a large stage. The hobbit lads made tents and pavilions in their breeches when they thought of the delightfully pot-bellied dwarves swinging around the poles erected on the centally-placed platform.

Everyone, especially the three hobbit-families of Bagshot Row were intensely interested. Old Gaffer Gamgee stopped even pretending to take his daily dose of Viagra. He didn't need it: Just the mere _thought_ of those dwarves...

A draught of barmaids from every inn, club, and stripper joint for miles around arrived to supplement the ever-gorging and orgying dwarves that were quartered away at Bag End.

Excitement rose to its height.

Then the dwarves got food poisoning (probably a prank by the witchy barmaids-- If they couldn't see the dwarves, NOBODY should be allowed to!). Anxiety was intense. Then Thursday, September the 22nd actually dawned. The dwarves got up (despite lingering symptoms), flags were unfurled and the fun began.

Bilbo Baggins called it a 'Party', but it was really the Cheap Ale, the shimmying Dwarves, and the promise of an exclusive after-party orgy rolled into one.

As the night wore on, and a ghastly quantity of the Cheap Ale was consumed, the lasses began showing up (although NO lass in the Shire had received an invitation). Alas, the hopeful young blossoms were turned away at the make-shift gate by the volunteer bouncers. Hoards of them drifted back into the deserted town silently... menacingly... They had some planning to do before the night was through.

Back at the party, the dwarves had disappeared backstage to prepare for their final 'Full Monty' act, and the presents were distributed. Usually, hobbits gave away presents on their birthdays. More often than not, they gave away things that they had gotten bored of, or had never liked themselves, but those on the receiving end never tired of getting these bland gifts.

Tonight, however, was an exception. Due to the nature of the presents, it was only SANITARY to give away new ones.

The Vibrators were by Gandalf: they were not only brought by him, but designed and made by him; 'Special Effects' included. But, for most of the hobbits there was a generous distribution of dice, tarot cards, condoms, lubrication jelly and dwarf-fashion pink fluffy handcuffs. They were all superb. The art of Gandalf improved with age.

Suddenly, a naked and very drunken hobbit lad by the name of Pippin Took streaked across the stage, much to the delight of all present. Tooks had always been known for their fabulously tight buttockses.

"That is the signal for the main event!" said Bilbo. Now the prostates of all hobbits leapt to life with anticipation, and an impatient silence fell on the highly aroused crowd.

The Party Lights (left over from last Yule) which decorated the outskirts of the field were dimmed, and a spotlight hit the stage.

There were gasps of surprise and delight as an age-old hobbit folksong waved out across the crowd from the small hired band.

'Weeooow, wo-wo-wo-wo Weeeeoow' went an unidentifiable string instrument. A lone dwarf glided through the silk curtains into the spotlight. He was wearing what looked to be like battle gear: A weathered dwarf helmet, a shirt of ring-mail, and... go-go boots? In one hand he held his battle axe; in the other, a microphone (or what passed as a microphone in those days). Eyes widened as he raised the device slowly and seductively to his lips, and there was frenzied clapping when suddenly his rich dwarf falsetto rang out:

"I believe in MIRACLES!"

In a fluid motion, he flung his axe into the crowd, where it hit a barrel of Cheap Ale. More applause.

"Where you from?" asked the dwarf.

"YOU SEXY THING!" answered his companions in perfect harmony from behind the curtain.

"I believe in MIRACLES!" The remaining six dwarves strode out, confidently flinging their axes into more barrels of Cheap Ale. Deafening cheers.

"Since you came ALOOONG!" With their left hands now free, the dwarves made quite an ordeal of ripping off their mail-shirts. The ringlets snapped, and the shirts were tossed gracefully to the side.

"YOU SEXY THING!" sang the dwarves. The hobbits hooted along merrily, stamping their sizable feet to the beat.

"Miracles right before my eyes!  
You sexy thing got me hypnotised!  
Don't stop what ya' doing!"

The first verse passed, with the crowd becoming even more excited as the dwarves made quick work of their stout little dwarf trousers. Before long, the pot-bellied beauties were clad only in dwarfthongs (all the rage in Dale), some of the Party Lights, and their battered helmets.

"TOUCH ME, BABY!" sang the dwarves, as they each handed the ends of their string of Party Lights to various amazed hobbit lads. Once each dwarf had accomplished this task of end-giving, they unraveled slowly and carefully from the Lights. They twirled majestically, as the wanton lads slobbered and pulled greedily on the ends.

"KISS ME, BABY!" the dwarves cried, turning their mostly-bared behinds to the expectant audience. Now the wiggles and jiggles were forthcoming by the thousands, as the devious dwarves performed a thrilling move commonly known as 'The Beeper'.

"YOU SEXY THING!" they wailed, and with a collective 'thwap', seven elastic thongs snapped off and floated gently onto the faces of the front row.

Still facing away from the drooling hobbits, the entertainers teasingly removed their helmets, placing them daintily over their exposed dwarf-schlongs.

With a last "YOU SEXY THING!", the Dwarves turned, and the helmets were flung ceremoniously into the air and the crowd roared in awe and appreciation, a passionate need throbbing in every pair of hobbit breeches.

Bilbo had to act fast. He knew things were going to get out of hand right there in that field if he didn't say anything. Orgies were one thing, OUTDOOR orgies were quite another. He was definitely too much of a refined hobbit (even in his drunken and lusty state) to go in for that sort of thing.

Springing lightly onto the stage in front of the dwarves he raised his hands in a commanding gesture for silence. The hobbits, eager to get on to the next event on the agenda, complied after a good three minutes of continuous cat-calls and hoots.

"My dear People," began Bilbo haltingly, wobbling unsteadily, despite the fact that he wasn't walking anywhere at the moment.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins," he began again, eyeing some of his most dear lads, "and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proud-"

"I WANT DWARF MEAT!" wailed Otho Proudfoot from a far table. "RAW DWARF MEAT! **NOW!"**

Bilbo, stunned, opened and closed his mouth for a few minutes before continuing unsteadily. "Well, it seems you are all having as much fun as I am, so forget that question..."

There were more blood-curdling shrieks for dwarf meat.

"Ah-HEM!" exclaimed Bilbo loudly. "Well, this is my birthday. I just wanted to make you all aware of that fact again. It's also the birthday of my comely heir and nephew, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo, in his smashedness, could only belch and wail along with the rest of the 'dwarf meat' criers.

"Well, since I see you are all in a rather impatient mood-"

"BILBO T. BAGGINS!" roared a high-pitched and bitchy voice from the back of the crowd. Bilbo, horrified, gulped and clutched at his heart.

"Lobelia! Ladies! Well, well, well!" he tittered nervously. Shrinking away from the wrathful mob of hobbit lasses, he whispered to one of the dwarves, "Oh my! I didn't know she knew my middle name!"

It was at that moment that all hell broke loose. The angry mob burst forth, and hobbit lads went flying like farts in the wind. There came a massive wailing of "No! No, don't touch me! Not there! Get your girly hands off me! Argh!" as the grim mistresses set about their awful task of punishing the hobbit lads for with-holding on the dwarf show.

As soon as Lobelia flung herself at the stage, Bilbo knew that he had to take desperate measures. See if he was going to be molested by such a devious fiend as a Sackville-Baggins! Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a large instrument, handing it to a nearby dwarf.

"You know what to do!" cried the desperate hobbit. The dwarf obeyed, plunging the instrument immediately into Bilbo's--

Darkness. Frodo groaned. How long had he been passed out? He couldn't remember who he'd bonked last night, but as a piercing ray of sunlight invaded his bedchamber, he saw that whoever it was had long since departed.

He remembered clearly the only truly important event of yestereve. A very frightened and agitated Bilbo, yanking down his breeches and bending over in front of a naked dwarf. Frodo could have accepted all of this, and would have forgotten it all by now, were it not for one out-of-theordinary fact: At the moment of 'impact', Bilbo had quite suddenly disappeared.

Frodo didn't know it, but Bilbo had waddled (well, you can't really walk properly with something like that stuck where the sun don't shine) back to Bag End, collected in a rush some of his most treasured belongings, and departed hastily, leaving the Thing (as was its formal name) slick and abandoned on the floor of the kitchen. Frodo also didn't know that it hadn't just been abandoned: Bilbo had left it there on purpose, thinking perhaps that Frodo might need to use it some time or another with all the crazy lasses running about molesting everyone.

Frodo, for his part, didn't want to think about it.

"My head..." he moaned out loud, and moaning out loud didn't make the pain any better.

"Good morning," came a cheerful reply. Bolting upright in bed, Frodo stared wide-eyed at Gandalf the Wizard. 'No,' he thought, horrified. 'I think I would have remembered _that_!'

"Gandalf!" he squeaked miserably, sinking back down into the shelter of the feather bed. Gandalf chuckled.

"It wasn't me," he admitted lamely. Frodo sighed in relief. "Here. Bilbo left this for you."

Gandalf held up a sealed plastic bag with a gloved hand. Frodo gasped at the contents.

"He left me... the Dildo?" he asked, astonished. "That's IT?!"

Gandalf shook his head.

"Oh no, my dear hobbit. He left you the home as well. He's gone off to die somewhere, and thought you would like it better if you had a roof over your head. You should really look after this Thing. It..." he hesitated. "It's SPECIAL. Hang onto it for awhile, will you? I've got to go see my boyfriend; he was in a real snit when he heard about the partying we did last night. I owe it to him to go back to Orthanc in person and assure him that nothing happened." He looked glaringly at Frodo. "Nothing happened," he repeated.

He got up and left the room in a flourish, calling back over his shoulder, "There's some tea over the hearth, and some herbs on the table if you've got a headache. Take care of that Thing, you hear? I'll be back soon."

And Gandalf was gone.

* * *

Coming Soon (if I get enough feedback): 'Chapter Two: The Thing of the Past'


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